Daydreamer
by therecomemanypaths
Summary: The in-between moments when Santana needed her and Brittany was there. Written for the episodes of 3x06 and 3x07.


A/N: I've been pretty consistent about posting things long after I've written them. This is set after 3.07

* * *

She's standing outside the studio watching Brittany through the glass as she stretches. She has a leg draped over the bar and her arms are stretching up to the air and—god. Every move she makes is fucking beautiful and she can't bring herself to interrupt, so she just stands there and watches.

When she's done, Brittany rises from where she's lying on the ground and calls out "You can come in now, San" with a laugh in her voice.

Santana feels her cheeks heat up—_whatever_—but enters the room anyway.

"Hey," she says with a small smile. Brittany runs up to her and pecks her on the lips before poking her in the side.

"So what's the big secret? You were all stutter-y on the phone and your excuse for not picking me up kind of sucked, sorry."

"What? No way," she deadpans. She had told Brittany a squirrel had gotten stuck in her car's exhaust pipe. So maybe not her best work but Brittany is creepily good at knowing when she's full of crap. There was like, no point in putting in the effort to come up with something plausible. (Why a squirrel in an exhaust pipe was the first thing to come to her mind is another issue entirely.)

Brittany doesn't answer. She just grins and sticks her fingers through the belt loops of Santana's jeans to tug her closer. "Seriously though. Tell me what it is, I'm all jumpy now."

Her fingers are trailing down to her hips and…yeah, Brittany is totally not playing fair.

"I just… whatever, I'll show you" she mumbles. She very reluctantly detaches Brittany's fingers from around her hips and slips outside the studio to grab the beat-up guitar case that's leaning by the door. Brittany looks at it in confusion and Santana shifts from one foot to the other, suddenly nervous.

"I thought maybe I could play it."

"But you don't know how to play guitar."

Santana shrugs. "I learned." _For you. _She doesn't say it out loud but the way Brittany's eyes soften, she knows.

There is no one in the room besides them and for all intents and purposes, this is just a practice for another silly Glee assignment. But now—because of soft eyes and unspoken affirmations—it feels like more.

Brittany takes her place in the center of the room, shards of sunlight from the nearby windows scattered on the floor around her. Santana slides down against the mirror facing her and rests the guitar on her lap.

When Brittany nods at her, Santana flexes her fingers, where a faint scar stretches across the knuckles, and runs them down the strings. She begins to play and Brittany begins to move, Santana's voice and her fingers guiding her.

* * *

She's literally struggling to breathe. Her hand burns from the slap so she focuses on that as she runs out of the auditorium. She has to focus on her hand because thinking about everyone's eyes on her, just _staring _with varying degrees of shock and confusion—and in some cases, dawning realization—is just too fucking much. She stumbles into the nearest bathroom and leans heavily against the sink. Her head is filled with static and the only words she can pick out are the ones that make her stomach churn. Those are the words she sees when she catches her reflection in the mirror.

She doesn't even realize what's happened until something bright catches her eye and she looks down to see blood dripping from her knuckles. Even then, she just stands there, staring dumbly at drops of blood as they travel slowly down to her fingertips and fall into the sink.

She hears the door creak open behind her, followed by a gasp. Brittany is beside her a second later and Santana can see tear tracks down her cheeks. Brittany reaches silently for her hand and turns the sink on, running her knuckles under warm water. They're quiet as they watch the water turn from red to pink and then clear. She wraps Santana's hand tightly in a paper towel and then cups her cheek with a gentle hand.

"Okay, baby. Let's go."

* * *

Santana's singing the words but in her eyes, she's not the one telling the story. It's Brittany's hands that move slowly over her own body (_feeling up your girl like you've never felt her figure before_). It's her arms that stretch out, fingers grasping (_hard to chase but good to catch_).

Brittany is telling their story, narrating it with bends and twists. Her movements slow and her body slopes back as she extends an open hand behind her.

(_Waits for you then sees you through._)

Yes. This is their story.

* * *

It's particularly cold for this time of year and she's been sitting on Brittany's doorstep in nothing but a skirt for—she doesn't really know how long. It feels like hours. Anyway, it doesn't matter because the numbness that she feels is coming from the inside.

She was really fucking stupid. She sees that now. She was on a too-good-to-be-true high after telling her parents and now…

She presses her fingers hard to her temples and squeezes her eyes shut, as if that will make the words stop. They don't.

_I want you to leave this house._

_I want you to leave this house._

_I want you to leave—_

It's only the sound of a car pulling into a driveway that interrupts the broken record in Santana's head.

Santana stands clumsily when Brittany hops out of the car, muscles stiff from the cold. She spots Santana, who sees the beginnings of a hopeful smile that freezes as Brittany takes in her stiff posture, her outfit (she'd dressed up and curled her hair the way her grandmother loved), the devastated expression on Santana's face. Brittany had known what she was planning to do. She'd insisted on coming with her, or at least waiting for her at Santana's house, but she had told her it would be fine. After all, her grandmother had basically raised her since her own parents worked so much. If her mother and father could accept her, then surely—_surely_—the woman who'd seen her grow would.

Oh god.

Brittany's standing by the car, one hand left forgotten on the door.

"She…told me she never wants to see me again."

Her voice sounds completely foreign to her, and she's crying again as soon as the words are out. The shock and disbelief on Brittany's face is the last thing she sees before she's pulled flush against her body with Brittany's arms wrapped tightly around her.

It's a couple of minutes later that Brittany whispers "Let's get you inside, okay?" and pulls her into the quiet house. Once in her bedroom, she moves to her dresser to grab an oversized t-shirt before returning to where she deposited Santana on the edge of her bed.

Brittany crouches down in front of Santana and takes one hand in each of hers. She squeezes lightly to get Santana to meet her eyes.

"Santana?" she says softly.

Her mouth opens to say something along the lines of _Whatever, it's no big deal_ or _It's her fucking loss_ but nothing comes out. It _is _a big deal, and there's a gaping hole in her chest right now that is a pretty clear indication that she's the one who lost something tonight. There aren't any words she can speak that won't hurt so she just shakes her head. Brittany murmurs a quiet "Okay" and then starts unlacing her boots.

She undresses her with a tenderness Santana can only barely handle. She feels like she's unraveling with every item of clothing Brittany removes. When she's down to her underwear, Brittany presses a kiss into her hair before tugging the t-shirt over her head. Then she pulls back her sheets and tucks her into bed. Santana watches as Brittany gathers her clothes, presumably to take it down the hall to the hamper. She knows she's being pathetic but she can't help choking out a quiet "Brit."

Brittany seems to know what she's asking. She drops Santana's clothes and quickly strips off her shirt, bra, and sweats to climb in beside her, tucking Santana under her chin. They don't say anything for a long time. Santana counts Brittany's heartbeat and its steady rhythm makes her feel a little less unhinged. When she does speak, she's not even sure if Brittany's still awake.

"Once, when I was little, I got a hold of some crayons and colored all over the kitchen wall," she says tonelessly. "Abuela beat my ass when she saw it but she never painted it over." She picks at a loose string on the duvet. "I just thought, you know. No matter what I did, she'd love me."

Brittany's arms tighten around her. "I'm sure she does, still," she says softly.

Santana stiffens.

"Really?" Santana snaps. "She's got a fucking interesting way of showing it, doesn't she?" She tries to pull away from her but Brittany tightens her arms around her.

"San. I don't know if she'll ever come around." Santana squeezes her eyes shut. She's done enough crying for today. Fuck that, she's done enough crying for a lifetime. "I really hope she does. But no matter what happened, she didn't stop loving you. No one could ever just stop loving you."

Santana remembers her grandmother's retreating back and isn't so sure. Instead of replying, she finds Brittany's heart beat again. It drowns out her grandmother's unbearable words and it's the only way she manages to fall asleep that night.

* * *

Santana sings the last line of the song without the guitar. It's not a conscious decision. It's just that she really wants to make sure Brittany hears her.

Brittany stills, facing her. The air is thick between them and Santana wonders briefly what they look like, on opposite sides of the room staring at each other like this.

Before she has a chance to get up, Brittany crosses the room and pulls the guitar from Santana's lap to straddle her. Santana pulls her close by the waist as strong arms loop around her neck and their foreheads bump together. Brittany's eyes are warm and wet, and Santana feels herself melt a little more inside.

"I love you," she says.

It doesn't feel like enough. Some of her very worst fears, the stuff of her nightmares, have become reality over the last few months and Brittany was always there, steady when everything else was shifting around her. Santana wants to tell her how much that means to her but she's always been better at showing, so she pulls her closer instead.

Brittany smiles in understanding before she whispers "I love you, too" and presses their lips together in a kiss that Santana uses to declare everything she doesn't know how to say with words.

_(And she can tell that you'll be there for life.)_

* * *

A/N 2: Title and (amended) lyrics from _Daydreamer _by Adele.


End file.
